


moody

by ElsieMcClay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Gen, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio Friendship, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Kageyama Tobio Angst, Kageyama Tobio-centric, M/M, Moving In Together, POV Outsider, POV Third Person Limited, Reunions, SO MUCH FLUFF, Social Media, Some Humor, Volleyball Dorks in Love, and thats on god, bc they are theyre in love, but he comes back to japan, copious amounts of bickering, hinata goes to brazil, i am in fact in love w the ocs i made for this fic, i think theyre neat, its LIGHT angst i promise, its literally unreal, kind of, like barely even noticeable, nishinoya yuu is mentioned, oikawa tooru is mentioned - Freeform, some hugging, some scowling, tanaka ryuunosuke is mentioned, tsukki yamaguchi yachi hinata and kageyama were friends before they graduated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElsieMcClay/pseuds/ElsieMcClay
Summary: the one where Kageyama's mood depends on where in the world Hinata Shoyo is.--The first-year shuffles toward Kuga, Tsu, and Nakamura. He keeps his eyes cast toward the floor.“He looks so pissed!” Nakamura squeaks, hiding his face behind his hands. “He isn’t even looking at us, and I feel like he’s mad at me! Why is he even coming over here? Oh, God.”The first-year stops at the end of the bench, dropping his bag onto the floor. He bends at the waist and lets his long hair fall over his face as he bows.“Kageyama Tobio,” he grunts. “First-year sports sciences major.” He straightens again but still refuses to make eye contact. His fists are clenched at his sides, and his mouth is drawn into a constant scowl. Kuga and Nakamura stare openly at him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Kageyama Tobio & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 565
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	moody

**Author's Note:**

> sort of based off that one scene where kags is brooding and the third years are like "whats up w him" and then hinata goes past to cheer him up (https://www.instagram.com/p/CEc7PnJAW1m/?igshid=sgjuus7by52s [a link to screencaps of the scene]) 
> 
> yeah but basically i havent written in a trillion years and then suddenly this takes hold of me and wont let go and now i have 15k words of,,, this???? ? help but i DO have many more ideas for haikyuu again so hopefully i keep w the momentum or w/e!!! 
> 
> i hope you enjoy bc im personally very proud of this fic and im in love w kuga yoshitomo dont @ me abt it. this totally could've been canonverse w/ kageyama's japan team but i rlly didn't think of that before i started and then i didn't have the heart to get rid of kuga nakamura and tsu :( so i didn't its okay

“The first-years are, like, terrifying this year,” Kuga informs his teammates, glancing over his shoulder as if one of the infamous first-years would appear behind him. He shakes his head once and drops onto the bench next to Nakamura. He tugs nervously at the front of his gray t-shirt. 

“You think everyone is terrifying before you meet them,” Nakamura says, waving Kuga off. “You’re overreacting.” 

“Plus, they’re first-years—how _terrifying_ can they be?” Tsu shrugs, leaning toward his foot to stretch. “They’re babyfaced, just like the first-years were last year. We could probably eat them alive if we wanted to.” Tsu tucks his head against his chest as Kuga makes a panicked sound in the back of his throat. 

“No, no, no, you don’t get it,” he insists, waving his hands so wildly around him that Nakamura has to duck to dodge getting hit square in the nose. “The one kid looks like—like he could kill someone and not blink twice, like—” Kuga stands so fast he rocks the bench, and he curls his shoulders into a menacing slouch. He flattens his hair against his forehead and drawns his mouth into a scowl that looks uncharacteristic on his face. 

“Guh!” Nakamura grunts, recoiling hard enough to send him off the back of the bench. Tsu breaks into peals of guffawing laughter, his stretching forgotten at the sight of Kuga. The commotion draws attention from around the gym, but it’s nothing new—not for Kuga, Nakamura, and Tsu, at least. The attention passes after a second, and the conversations resume around them. 

“It’s like I said,” Kuga insists, falling back onto the bench as Nakamura rubs his tailbone and picks himself off the gym floor. “He’s really freakin’ scary.” He crosses his arms over his chest and slouches. “You’ll see—he’s almost as tall as Arakawa, so there’s really no way he’s not a volleyball player.” 

“He could be into basketball,” Nakamura suggests weakly. His eyes are wide and frightened, jumping between the gym doors and Kuga’s face. Tsu shrugs. 

“He might not like sports at all, Kuga. Did you ever think of that?” he says, and Kuga narrows his eyes at the challenge. 

“He’s definitely a volleyballer. I could feel it, even from across the room. He’s got this...aura.”

“An _aura_? An aura told you he plays volleyball?” Tsu shakes his head. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. Kuga cuffs him on the back of the head, indignant. 

“Yes, in fact—his aura told me he plays volleyball.” _That and the volleyball bag he had slung over one of his shoulders_ , Kuga doesn’t say. “A thousand yen says I’m right.”

“You’re on,” Tsu promises, and he goes back to stretching. Nakamura rubs at his tailbone again, wincing. 

Around them, their team readies themselves for practice. Sneakers squeak on the polished gym floors. On the court, there are grunts followed by the sound of the ball hitting the floor on the other side of the net. A few of the more excitable spikers cheer after each successful spike. The first- and second-years cheer for the upperclassmen, ever eager to please. Their coaches and team managers linger on the side of the court, huddled together and going over lists and eyeing all the players as they warm up, sizing them up to find the best possible starters for the season. 

Tsu moves into a morning stretch, his legs extended and his arms pushing out above his head, but he grunts as the toe of Kuga’s shoe jabs into his ribs. He sits up to berate him, maybe tackle him off the bench for doing something so careless, but Kuga’s attention is elsewhere. He tugs on Nakamura’s shirt and points toward the gym doors, bouncing where he sits. He gives Nakamura a meaningful look and once again flattens his hair against his forehead, jerking his head toward the door. 

Kuga’s shitty imitation did the first-year no justice, none at all. Tsu gapes at the boy in the door, easily just over 180-centimeters tall even with his slouched posture. He wears a flat look, and yeah—maybe he _would_ kill someone without even blinking. He looks like he could. His hair falls over the top half of his face, casting shadows over his dark eyes that only serve to make him look even more intimidating. 

Kuga is shaking Nakamura by the shoulders, and Nakamura looks as if his soul has escaped out his mouth. 

“You owe me a thousand yen, Tsu!” Kuga cheers, but Tsu pushes a hand against his face to silence him. “Hey!” 

“Sh,” Tsu hisses, his eyes tracking the first-year as he crosses the gym. His hands are buried in the pockets of his sweatpants, and the strap of his volleyball duffle is stretched across his chest. The kid stops in front of their coach, a balding, middle-aged man who constantly cradles a clipboard to his chest and likes to remind the team of his own glory days when he was the captain of his university team. He stands before the bench for a long moment, and unless Kuga is suddenly going deaf, he thinks the gym goes dead silent in the time it takes for the first-year to nod at the coach and turn around again. 

The first-year shuffles toward Kuga, Tsu, and Nakamura. He keeps his eyes cast toward the floor.

“He looks so pissed!” Nakamura squeaks, hiding his face behind his hands. “He isn’t even looking at us, and I feel like he’s mad at me! Why is he even coming over here? Oh, God.” 

The first-year stops at the end of the bench, dropping his bag onto the floor. He bends at the waist and lets his long hair fall over his face as he bows. 

“Kageyama Tobio,” he grunts. “First-year sports sciences major.” He straightens again but still refuses to make eye contact. His fists are clenched at his sides, and his mouth is drawn into a constant scowl. Kuga and Nakamura stare openly at him. 

Tsu is the first to recover, “Tsuzuki Ken. Third-year Physics major.” 

“Kuga Yoshitomo, uh—third-year nursing student.” 

“N-Nakamura Takanori, and I’m a third-year, too. Oh, computer sciences.” There’s a beat of awkward silence where the three watch as Kageyama stoops to get his volleyball shoes out of his bag. He nods to himself and strips out of his windbreaker. 

“What position are you?” Kuga asks after a moment. “I’m a right-side hitter, Tsu is our trusty libero, and Nakamura’s a substitute middle blocker.” 

“I’m a setter.” Kageyama heaves a sigh, and the conversation ends there. He smacks his lips, turns on his heel, and stalks toward the net to warm-up. Nakamura exhales and slouches on the bench next to Kuga. 

“You were right, Kuga,” he mutters. “He’s so damn scary.” 

“Do you think he’s ever felt happiness? Do you think he’s ever even smiled?” Kuga asks, slightly awed and slightly terrified. Tsu scoffs. 

“Of course he has,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very convinced. “Maybe that’s just his nervous face or something.” 

It’s not. Kageyama always looks like that, they find— _always._ The first time Kuga has to hit one of his sets, he thinks he’s going to pee his pants just because of the intense look Kageyama sends his way as he jumps toward the net. He’s so thrown off by the look that he swings his arm over his head and misses the ball completely, and it falls to the ground next to him as he lands. It bounces once and rolls away, and Tsu is guffawing at him on the sidelines. His face burns until what just happened really sinks in.

Kuga goes cold all over as he watches the ball roll away. He’s frozen to the spot, his fingers twitching at his sides. He can’t bring himself to look at Kageyama, now; he’d rather the last thing he sees be the other side of the court instead of Kageyama’s murderous rage. 

“Ah,” Kageyama grunts next to him, and Kuga thinks, _this is it. This is where I die._ He hopes Nakamura will write a good speech for his funeral, maybe. “Sorry—that one was a little too high. I won’t screw up again.” Kageyama bows his head, and Kuga gapes at him. 

“I-it’s fine,” he stutters. He runs for the ball, still thinking about the look in Kageyama’s eyes as he set the ball for him. Even just the memory sends a shiver up Kuga’s spine. When Kuga hits the next ball, Kageyama only nods to himself. After practice ends, Kageyama disappears from the locker room before almost anyone else, like usual, and Kuga tells Nakamura about the set and the look. 

Nakamura looks like he’s going to pass out just from imagining it, and not even Tsu has a retort about how the guy isn’t really _that_ scary because it’s an undeniable fact: Kageyama Tobio is a terrifying individual.

The first time they see Kageyama smile, it’s weeks into practices, just before the season’s games really start, and it’s really, honestly the most shocking thing that’s ever happened to Kuga in his life. 

It happens after one of their last practice matches before the real games begin—they win the match, but that’s not why Kageyama is smiling, even though he managed a particularly cool and impressive toss that scored them the winning point. The most he does after a good match is give a brisk nod, if that. No, the smile comes long after the match is over. They’ve all changed into their street clothes by now, ready to go back to their dorms and veg out for the rest of the evening. Kuga is sore all over, and there’s a wicked bruise forming on Tsu’s forearms from an intense receive. 

Kageyama emerges from the gym, still in his jersey and clutching a water bottle in one hand. He casts a glance over his shoulder, and a short, ginger kid appears at his shoulder, bouncing with every step and talking a mile a minute. 

“Are you being nice to your teammates?” the little red-headed ball of sunshine asks, and Kageyama scowls, his face a vague shade of pink. He takes a long drink from his water bottle and wipes his face on the back of his wrist, scoffing. 

“Why would you say that? Of course I’m being nice, dumbass.” 

Nakamura leans into Kuga’s space and whispers, “Who the hell is that kid over there? Have you seen him around before?” Kuga shakes his head. He’s pretty sure he’d remember seeing a kid with hair like that, even if he isn’t very tall. At the very least, he would’ve _heard_ him around campus. 

“I’m only asking ‘cause you’re _mean,_ Bakageyama, duh.” Little Red rolls his eyes like it’s obvious and like he hasn’t just signed his own death warrant by insulting Kageyama like that. They’ve all heard whispers about Kageyama snapping at people who are rude to him, and all Kuga knows for sure is that he would hate to be on the wrong side of that fight. 

“I’m only mean to you!” Kageyama insists, and Tsu titters into his hand. Kageyama seems to realize his mistake as a grin breaks out on the shorty’s face, wide and satisfied. He places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. 

“So you admit you’re mean?” Kageyama opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying and failing to find a good retort. His companion clutches his stomach and laughs like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. “Mean, mean, mean! You’re so mean, Kageyama!” He tugs on the sleeve of Kageyama’s navy blue jersey, bouncing on his toes. 

Kuga mostly expects to witness a murder. He readies his testimony in his head: _no, officer, I didn’t see Kageyama kill that short kid, ‘course not._ But Kageyama does the damndest thing. 

He smiles. 

Like actually, really. With teeth and without murderous intent—it’s sort of insane. 

Beside Kuga, Nakamura chokes on his spit and stumbles. Tsu’s eyes are comically wide on his face, and Kuga’s mouth falls open as he watches Kageyama grin. The redhead seems to think nothing of it, as if Kageyama smiling is a _regular occurrence,_ when it most definitely is not. Kuga’s been on a team with him for months now, and he’s only ever seen Kageyama look vaguely angry. There are rumors of Kageyama laughing at his phone in the locker room once, but Kuga hadn’t been around to see it, so he’s not sure if he believes it. 

“Hey, those are some of your teammates, right?” calls a shrill voice, and when Kuga comes back to himself, he finds a finger pointed directly at him, Nakamura, and Tsu. The redhead pulls Kageyama toward the three of them by the wrist. Kageyama makes no move to dig his heels into the ground to make his friend’s life any harder, but the smile is wiped from his face. “I’m Hinata!” 

Kuga finds himself shaking Hinata’s hand despite the glare Kageyama is sending his way. Hinata grips Kuga’s hand almost too tight, like Kuga will turn around and run away the moment he lets go. To be honest, Kuga might be considering it, but Tsu will definitely make fun of him if he runs away from this runt. Part of Hinata’s height is all in his hair, which sticks up at odd angles all over his head, each strand bouncing as he introduces himself, and even then, he barely comes up to Kuga’s chin. He’s barely taller than Tsu, who is the shortest one on the team. 

There’s no way this kid is a volleyball player. 

“Hey, give me an honest answer here—is Kageyama mean?” Nakamura gives Kuga a look, obviously unsure of whether or not he’s expected to answer that. 

“Oi, dumbass,” Kageyama interrupts before Kuga can even shrug helplessly, “you didn’t even let them introduce themselves. Is this how they do it in Brazil, or are you just an idiot?” 

“I’m not an idiot!” Hinata argues. He throws up his hands and nearly smacks Kageyama in the face. Kageyama grabs his wrist with one hand and buries his other hand in Hinata’s hair, tightening his grip until Hinata is wincing and wiggling in his hold. “Now _you_ aren’t letting them introduce themselves!” Kageyama rolls his eyes and releases his hold on Hinata. Hinata straightens out his t-shirt and gives the three a wide-eyed, expectant look. 

“I’m Nakamura.”

“Tsu.”

“Kuga!” 

“It’s so nice to meet you! I was watching your practice match, and you’re all so cool, like—woah!” Hinata starts. “I wish I could come see you all in a real match, but I’m only in Japan for another few days before I have to fly back to Rio.” At this, Kageyama looks… _proud?_

_What the hell?_ This keeps getting weirder and weirder. Kuga doesn’t think he can take it. 

“Rio?” Nakamura asks. Hinata grins, wide and sunny and toothy, and jabs himself in the chest with his thumb. 

“I’m training in beach volleyball—playing for the outdoor team all the way over in Brazil!” He rocks back on his heels, and Kageyama’s hand descends upon his shoulder to keep him from falling. “It’s pretty far from home, but it’s so cool! I’m learning some Portuguese, and I’m training to be better than Kageyama so I can beat him one day.” 

“You talk too much,” Kageyama grunts, and he pulls Hinata in the other direction. Hinata waves good-bye, still smiling. If it were anyone else, Kuga might call it a rude way to end the conversation, but they're honestly lucky to have gotten any good-bye from Kageyama at all, even if it was half-assed and not very polite. And not really a good-bye. 

“You all did so well today!” Hinata calls. 

“Kuga,” Nakamura murmurs, sounding faint, “pinch me, would you? I think I must be dreaming.” Kuga pinches Nakamura on his side, but Tsu hits his hand away with an exaggerated eye roll. 

“You’re both so overdramatic.”

“Did you see that, Tsu?” Kuga asks, incredulous. “Kageyama _smiled._ I thought for sure he was gonna, like, kill Little Red over there, but he didn’t.” 

“Of course I saw him—I’ve got eyes, stupid. It’s just not that big a deal.” Tsu shrugs as he turns on his heel to saunter back toward the locker rooms. Nakamura and Kuga share a look behind his back: _that was so totally a big deal,_ it says. 

It only takes a few days before Kageyama’s mood turns sour. It seems as if there is a bubble of dark, tense air around him, and his tosses are all off, something none of them have ever seen from him. So far, he’s been totally, scarily focused and precise in practice, so seeing him miss an easy toss twice, three times in a row…it’s strange, for the whole team. Kageyama’s getting more and more pissed off with himself, no matter how many times the team and their coach tell him that everyone has off days. 

Kuga comes across him in the locker room after practice. He’s laying across one of the benches, still in his volleyball shoes and practice clothes, and one of his arms is resting over his face. Kuga sees him and promptly turns around to leave—maybe to hide in one of the bathroom stalls until Kageyama leaves. 

But, as scary as Kageyama is, Kuga’s still his teammate. Teammates help each other in times of need, and this is a time of need if Kuga’s ever seen one. He sighs and takes a moment to hype himself up, slapping his hands against his cheeks hard enough to sting. He forces himself to go back to Kageyama where he’s still spread out on the bench. 

“Uh—uh, Kageyama?” Kuga stutters. His cheeks are probably red from hitting them so hard, now that he thinks about it. Kageyama drags his arm away from his head but doesn’t pick his head up off the bench. “What’s up?” 

“Hinata left for Brazil last night,” Kageyama murmurs, and that hadn’t been what Kuga was expecting. He blanches for a moment, not sure what to say. Kageyama sits up on the bench, but he keeps his head down, still. “I’m sorry for screwing up practice today—it won’t happen again, it’s just…Hinata is the reason I am how I am, and now he’s so far away again.” 

“The reason you are how you are?” Kuga asks before he can stop himself. 

“I used to be this scary, intense asshole in middle school and the beginning of high school, but then I started playing with Hinata, and he was just sort of a—he was a reality check, I guess. I stopped acting like that because of him, and now he’s across the world.” Kuga doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s still scary and intense. Kageyama sounds heartbroken, his voice flat and sad. 

“Brazil is pretty far, isn’t it?” Kuga says as he lowers himself onto the edge of the bench. “But he’ll come back, won’t he? Until then, you just have to keep getting better by yourself—Little Red said he wants to, like, beat you, didn’t he?” Kageyama snorts, but it has no humor. He rolls his eyes. 

“It’s some stupid promise from our first year of high school. Hinata never remembers anything unless it’s to do with volleyball. And winning. Especially if it involves winning against me in volleyball.” Kageyama heaves a sigh and wipes a hand across his face. “I promise to do better tomorrow.” 

“Oh, uh. Don’t worry about it, Kageyama.” Kuga waves a hand between them and hums. “I forget you weren’t around for that one practice where Tsu managed to take a ball to the face and then also took out _two_ middle blockers. Twice—he did that twice.” Kageyama doesn’t laugh, but then again, Kuga doesn’t expect him to. 

He pats Kageyama on the shoulder and leaves him to it. As promised, he’s back on his A-game for practice the next day, somehow. 

* * * *

Around final exams, Kageyama gets…fidgety? Kuga doesn’t know if that’s the right word for it, but Kageyama’s mood is _off_ again by the time the first snow comes, even as Nationals grow closer. He leaves the gym just a little faster at the end of practice, and he talks even less than normal, instead opting for sharp looks that could either mean, _good job_ or _you suck absolute ass._

It could be stress from his exams or the looming threat of not getting to Nationals, but Kuga likes to think he’s smart enough to figure out the real reason behind it.

“Kageyama’s only pissy because he hasn’t seen Little Red in a few months,” Kuga assures Nakamura and Tsu, not that either of them asked. “But the game’s always been more important to him—he’ll pull himself together.” Kuga pauses and nods. He puffs out his chest, proud to know Kageyama well enough to figure out the source of his mood. 

“Little Red?” Nakamura asks. “Who’s Little Red—does Kageyama have a girlfriend no one told me about?” Nakamura chews on the tip of his thumb and draws his face into a thoughtful expression. 

“No, no—there’s no girlfriend. As far as I know, anyway.” Kuga tries to imagine a girl who would ever date Kageyama. He’s not bad looking, but he’s not exactly any sort of gentleman, and Kuga can’t see him doing anything romantic like carrying some girl’s bag or feeding her or getting her flowers. It’s hard to think of Kageyama doing anything other than volleyball, but thinking of him with a girlfriend is almost comical. “But Little Red, dude! That kid from our first practice match.” There is no recognition on Nakamura’s face. Kuga cuffs him on the back of the head. “That was the only time we’ve ever seen Kageyama smile! The guy who’s in Brazil; ginger, short, loud. Ringing any bells, stupid?” 

“Oh,” Nakamura mumbles as he rubs the base of his skull, “well, you could’ve just said that to begin with. How am I supposed to know what you mean when it’s been months, and we only met him that one time? Jeez, Kuga.” 

“You’re supposed to remember because that’s the only time Kageyama ever smiled, and he smiled _because_ of Little Red!” Kuga insists. Tsu scoffs, and Nakamura gives some half-hearted protests. Kuga ignores both of them because he knows he’s right. Or, he’s pretty sure he’s right, anyway. Kageyama is a complex guy, after all, and who _really_ knows what goes on in his head? 

It’s not until a particularly grueling five-set match in the finals for Nationals that Kuga is proven correct, both about the game being more important to anything—thank goodness for it, too, because they might’ve lost the match without Kageyama’s level-headedness—and about the cause of Kageyama’s pissy mood. 

At the end of the match, Kuga lands on his feet after a spike and barely remembers to bend his knees to soften the impact on his joints as he watches the ball hit the ground between the other team’s libero and their spiker’s outstretched hand. It rolls away. The whistle blows, and the crowd—it’s deafening, almost immediately. The stands erupt in cheers and hoots and screams. Kuga gapes at the ball where it’s still on the ground, the other team bowing their heads around it in mourning. He blinks once and turns his head and sees Kageyama standing there. 

Except Kageyama isn’t looking at the ball or the other team or even Kuga. He is turned fully toward the stands, his shoulders trembling with pent-up adrenaline. His hands are tightened into fists at his sides, and Kuga moves to get a look at his face. 

Kageyama is, for lack of a better word, _beaming._ A smile stretches over his face, toothy and euphoric, and his eyes are scrunched closed, but his cheeks and the tip of his nose are red in a way that suggests he’s crying, though there are no tears. Kageyama’s whole body jerks roughly, and he extends his arm toward the stands, giving the audience a thumbs-up. Kuga’s never seen him like this—the match must’ve worn him out to the point that he’s delirious or broken or in need of a hospital or something. 

Kuga follows the line of his arm. At the end of Kageyama’s thumbs-up is…Little Red, clutching the railing and leaning so far over the edge of the stands that it’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen onto the gym floor a level below. Next to him is a tall blond guy who is wearing glasses and looks a little bored, and next to him is a medium-sized guy with greenish hair. At the end of the line of them is some bite-sized blonde girl who is shouting almost as loudly and shrilly as Little Red is, which is saying something because Kuga swears he can almost make out _words_ from Little Red’s shouting, even from so far away and even with all the noise around them. 

_A girlfriend?_ Kuga thinks, a little hysterical, at the sight of the girl. She cups one hand around her mouth and hoots and laughs and tugs on the sleeve of Medium Green’s shirt with her other hand. He wobbles precariously, but Glasses keeps him upright.

Little Red turns suddenly and makes a break for the stairwell to get onto the lower level in the lobby, and Kageyama moves like he hadn’t just played his hardest for a whole _five sets_ , breaking into a sprint for the gym doors. The smile hasn’t yet slipped off his face. Kuga watches him disappear into the lobby. They aren't really supposed to leave yet, but no one stops Kageyama on his way out. 

Nakamura tackles Kuga in an embrace, dragging Tsu and one of their other teammates behind him. For the moment, Kuga forgets about Kageyama’s good mood, too caught up in his own euphoria over winning. 

Someone retrieves Kageyama from the lobby, and the team lines up on the court to thank the other team for the match. The captains shake hands, but down the line, Kageyama all but vibrates where he’s standing. He looks like a kid waiting outside an amusement park, his lips pressed into a thin, if wobbly, line to suppress his excitement. The moment their coach dismisses them, Kageyama turns on his heel and bolts for the gym doors again. Hinata is there waiting for him, grinning and holding his arms open. Kageyama bowls into him, and Kuga watches from the court, though he itches to jog over there for himself to say hello—he’s nosy, but he doesn’t want to impose, not when Kageyama looks happier than Kuga’s ever seen him look. 

Kageyama has his face buried in Hinata’s shoulder, and he’s gripping the back of Hinata’s shirt like his life depends on it. Little Red doesn’t seem to mind, the more Kuga looks at them, because he’s holding Kageyama just as tight. They linger for only a moment longer before untangling themselves from each other. Kageyama wipes his face on the back of his hand, and Hinata beams up at him. 

Little Red is just as short as he had been when Kuga met him before, but he’s broader in the shoulders and wider in the chest, and his arms and legs both obviously more defined under his long-sleeved shirt and jeans. His face is much tanner than Kuga remembers, and even from a few feet away, Kuga can see a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. 

“I was going to wait to surprise you after the match,” he hears Hinata tell Kageyama, “but you were just doing so many cool things—I had to cheer for you!” Glasses, Medium Green, and the girl all appear at Hinata’s shoulder. Kageyama offers them all a watery grin as all but the tallest of them start to talk at once: 

“You were so cool!” Medium Green insists, sounding awed. 

“You did so well, Kageyama!” cries the girl. “I thought I was going to have heart palpitations just watching that match, but you really, really pulled it off!” 

“That last set was so, so good—your spiker was all like _bawh!_ You’ll toss to me later, won’t you, Kageyama?” They all seem to stop at once, and a moment passes in which Kageyama blinks at the four of them. He looks overwhelmed but also thrilled, and Kuga’s chest feels light for him, like he could just float off. 

“Some of your tosses were off,” Glasses says. “Is the King finally losing his touch?” Kuga’s stomach drops like a bag of rocks off a cliff, and he readies himself to punch the guy on Kageyama’s behalf. He’s never been in a fight before, but people can’t just go around insulting his teammates like that. Maybe he can convince Tsu to help him. Nakamura is too much of a coward to punch someone as tall as this guy is.

“Oh, go to Hell, Shitty-shima,” Kageyama laughs, and the girl and Little Red drag all of them into a group hug that looks like it’s sweaty and uncomfortable but also really _nice_ , somehow. 

Kuga finally jogs toward the group as they pull apart. He waves when Little Red spots him over Kageyama’s shoulder. 

“Little Red!” Kuga cheers as if greeting an old friend. “I see Brazil is treating you well!” He claps Hinata on the back, just between the shoulderblades. Hinata stumbles, but Kageyama catches him before he can fall right on his face. 

“Kuga-san, you remember me! Kageyama said you wouldn’t, but I said you would—and you did, so I was right, Kageyama.” Kageyama rolls his eyes, but his hand is lingering on Hinata’s shoulder. “Brazil is so good, though. I think I finally got a base tan, and I’m getting better with jumping around on the sand and everything. My team is so cool over there, too!” He talks about a mile-a-minute, and Kuga can barely keep up. He nods, but his expression must show something because Glasses laughs heartily until the boy with green hair tells him off with a smack to his shoulder. 

“I’m, uh, really glad to hear all that.” 

“You really don’t have to talk so much,” Glasses snickers. 

“I’m overseas for four months, and this is how you treat me when I get back?” Hinata shoots back, but Glasses only sticks out his tongue in retaliation. “Didn’t you miss me at all?”

“No, not one bit.” Hinata’s jaw drops. Somehow, Kageyama looks right at home in the midst of the four of them. Kuga pats him on the back and grins. Kageyama only bows his head, but it’s not enough to hide his own elation. 

“These are my old teammates,” Kageyama tells him as Hinata squawks indignantly, “from my high school team.” He introduces Kuga to Glasses—Tsukishima Kei, middle blocker (Kuga would have guessed that from his height and the tape on his fingers) who is also an asshole according to Kageyama and Hinata but looks more proud of the fact than irritated when they say it; Yamaguchi Tadashi, pinch server and the only person in the world who can put up with Asshole-Shima; Yachi Hitoka, their old manager and the only reason Kageyama and Hinata ever passed any of their high school exams. “And you know Hinata already,” Kageyama finishes. His eyes are twinkling even in the crappy light of the lobby. 

“Which one of you can tell me about all the embarrassing things Kageyama did in high school?” Kuga asks because he is nothing if not a shit head. Tsukishima’s face breaks into a wicked grin, and Kageyama, Hinata, Yamaguchi, and Yachi groan. 

“Don’t you think we should go clean up the gym, Kuga-san?” Kageyama asks desperately, just on the verge of pleading as Tsukishima grins, still. Kuga couldn’t be happier for him, really. 

In the locker room, Kageyama all but rips his jersey off in his haste to change back into his street clothes. Kuga watches him stuff his shoes into his duffle. 

“Your friends seem really cool, Kageyama,” he says. “I’m really glad you have them.” 

“They’re all I’ve ever had,” Kageyama tells him honestly. He pauses in shoving his water bottle into his bag and brushes his hair away from his eyes. “I don’t know where I would be without them.” He leaves in a flurry of movement, then, and Nakamura and Tsu pass him on their way into the locker room. 

“What was that about?” Tsu asks. Kuga huffs and puffs out his chest, jabbing his thumb into his sternum. 

“I met Kageyama’s friends and saw him smile _again._ ” Nakamura makes an awed noise, but Tsu scoffs, ever the party-pooper. 

“Yeah, we all saw the look he gave Shorty at the end of the match.”

“But his _friends_ , Tsu—I got to meet them, and you didn’t, so, uh, ha!” Kuga sticks out his tongue and finally starts to pull his jersey over his head. “One of them told me about Kageyama embarrassing himself at a match in high school, but since you were mean to me, I won’t tell you.” Another eye-roll. Kuga is starting to get offended, frankly, with how often Tsu rolls his eyes at him. 

In the end, Kuga recounts Tsukishima’s story of Kageyama hitting himself in the head with a missed toss to both Tsu and Nakamura anyway. 

The next day, Kuga gets to practice early to practice his serves; he’d almost flubbed one in the match yesterday, and he would hate himself if a missed serve was the reason they lost after getting so far and working so hard. Normally, the only people that would be at the gym this early are the coaches and their senior manager, but Kuga is met with the sound of a ball hitting the court and sneakers squeaking on the floor even before he can drop off his practice bag in the locker room. 

He peeks into the gym doors and finds Hinata and Kageyama on the court farthest from the door, a number of volleyballs scattered and discarded on the other side of the net. Hinata’s chest is heaving, his face flushed with exertion, and sweat plasters Kageyama’s bangs to his forehead. 

Kuga watched Hinata throw a ball in an arch over Kageyama’s head. Kageyama raises his hands to toss, and Hinata is already jumping toward the net with a speed Kuga has only ever seen in professional matches on television. Before Kuga even knows Kageyama’s so much as touched the ball, the sound of Hinata’s spike is reverberating around the gym, a loud and satisfying smack that rings in Kuga’s ears. The ball bounces in bounds and then falls back to the ground again somewhere beyond the court line and rolls off. Hinata cheers and pumps his fists in the air. 

“Jumping is so much easier when it’s not on the sand!” he cries, jumping straight up as if to prove his point. Kageyama snickers. 

“Of course it is, dumbass. Did you forget what solid ground feels like?” 

“No! I didn’t! I just…missed it, that’s all.”

“You missed playing on solid ground?”

“No, I missed playing with you, Kageyama,” Hinata says, so softly Kuga can barely make out the words. He suddenly feels like he’s intruding, so he turns on his heel and all but runs for the locker room. 

By the time he enters the gym, Hinata is hitting another spike into the court. He and Kageyama don’t say much to each other after Kuga starts his serving practice, but he has a feeling they don’t need to say things out loud to know what the other is thinking. 

He throws a ball up at the same time Hinata slams one down. 

Hinata leaves the gym before the others show up for practice, and Kageyama watches him go until he disappears, looking like he would give anything to follow him, even if it meant ditching practice. He grips a ball between his hands and drags his eyes away from the doors. 

Kageyama’s mood sours before the end of the week. Kuga feels terrible for him—the whole team avoids him for the whole of practice because of it. A dark, simmering air of despaired outrage surrounds him like a bubble or a steel wall. He spends the time before practice sitting against the far wall of the gym, his hands clenched into loose fists at his sides and his shoulders squared off and tense. His expression is nothing short of murderous. He glares at the floor, at a stray volleyball that rolls past his feet, at anyone who comes close to him. 

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Nakamura asks, casting a look toward where Kageyama’s standing on one of the courts. He looks out of place next to the net—it’s terrible. “He’s been in moods before but never like this and never so soon after a good match like the one we had this week.” 

“I’ve got a feeling it’s got to do with that little ginger kid,” Tsu says. The corners of his mouth pull into a troubled frown. “He looked really happy to see him after we won.” There’s a pause among them in which all three cast sad looks at Kageyama’s back. 

“I think Kuga should go comfort him,” Nakamura says like it’s a simple task that wouldn’t involve Kuga risking his damn life; Kageyama’s been tearing into people all practice, and Kuga would hate more than anything to be the one on the other side of his yelling. It would probably just pulverize him on the spot, turn him into a pile of ash. 

“What—why?” 

“Well, you helped him last time, didn’t you?” Nakamura shrugs. “You told me ‘n Tsu all about it.” 

“That time wasn’t as bad as it is now! I don’t know how to help him now.” Kuga shakes his head adamantly; he can’t do it. 

“C’mon, Kuga. He looks like he just needs someone to be his friend right now, all right? You’re the one he likes the best out of all of us, and he knows you best because you’re a spiker. Plus, as a spiker, aren’t you supposed to make sure the setter’s in tip-top shape?” Tsu reasons. He smirks because he knows he’s got Kuga trapped in a metaphorical corner. Kuga scowls at his practice shoes and huffs. 

“Fine, but I’m not doing it so you two get to stop walking on eggshells around the guy—I’m doing it for him.” He mutters to himself and wishes he had less shitty friends. “Oi, Kageyama!” he calls after a moment, and Kageyama whips around to face him, his expression stony. It takes everything in Kuga to not recoil away from his glare. “Why don’t you practice spiking? I’ll toss to you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’ve got less of a chance of getting into a fight if it’s just you and me practicing together,” Kuga says honestly. “And because spiking is, like, super therapeutic. It’ll help, I promise.” Kageyama sends one look toward the three-on-three he’s in the middle of and shrugs. As he follows Kuga to an unused net, the five left in the game sag in relief before resuming with one of the substitute setters. 

Kageyama makes three spikes with Kuga before either of them talk. All three of the spikes have landed out of bounds and rebounded into the wall.

“When did he leave?” Kuga asks as he sends up another toss. Kageyama doesn’t ask for any clarification; he probably knows, already, that Kuga figured him out. 

“Yesterday morning,” he grits out. “He should’ve just arrived in Rio if there weren’t any delays or anything.” They lapse into silence again, broken only by Kageyama’s grunts as he jumps and the sound of the ball slamming down on the other side of the net. Around them, practice slows and eventually ends, but Kageyama still looks angry, so Kuga doesn’t stop. The gym clears. They are the only ones left other than Nakamura, Tsu, a stray spiker, and the coaches. 

“He’ll be back before you know it,” Kuga tells him. It’s the wrong thing to say, though, because Kageyama lands after a jump and curls in on himself, his arms wrapped around his middle and his head bowed so Kuga can’t see much of his face at all. 

“I miss him already,” Kageyama mutters, “which is—lame. It’s lame. I think I missed him even while he was here, maybe.” Kuga kneels down next to him and hesitantly places a hand in the middle of his back. He trembles under Kuga’s fingertips. “Why did he have to _leave,_ Kuga-san?” 

“I don’t know, buddy, but I know he’ll be back. He’ll come back for you, I promise.” Only now does he realize how happy Hinata had been to see Kageyama, too, at that match. He wonders how he’s doing, the whole way across the world. “You have his number, though, don’t you? You can still, like, text and talk and stuff.” 

“Of course I have his number—I’ve had it since high school, but…it costs a lot to text too much, and he’s twelve hours behind, and we’re both always so busy with volleyball and other stuff.” Kageyama shrugs and sniffles. He rolls over and flops onto his back in the middle of the court, so Kuga is left crouched over him as he starfishes. Kuga sits down next to his hip and wonders to himself if he’s even doing the right thing here or if he’s just making it worse. 

“Well, I had a girlfriend who had to go to Australia for an internship, and we used other apps so it didn’t cost so much. I know the time difference is really not the same in my case, but if you guys want to talk, you’ll make time to talk.” Kageyama heaves a sigh and doesn’t say anything for a while. When Kuga looks around, he realizes the coaches have left the gym, and Nakamura and Tsu are still waiting for him. He jerks his head, and they start toward where he and Kageyama sit. 

“You have a girlfriend, Kuga-san?” Kageyama asks. He glances at Kuga out of the corner of his eye as he sputters and chokes, waving his hands in denial. 

“Wha—? Oh, uh, no. I don’t—the long distance thing wasn’t for us, but I’m sure you and Little Red are much stronger than we ever were. You two will be just fine.” 

“How do you know?” It’s the only time Kuga’s ever seen Kageyama look…unsure. On the court, he’s always so confident and ready, but here, he looks terrified, like losing this little ginger kid is the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to him. 

“Kageyama, the only times I’ve ever seen you smile in as long as I’ve known you, you were smiling at _him._ ” 

“I smile more than that.”

“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you really don’t.” Tsu and Nakamura settle down on the ground around Kageyama. Tsu plops down on the floor, chugging water from his water bottle, and Nakamura moves tentatively. 

“You don’t,” Tsu and Nakamura agree in unison. This seems to be news to Kageyama as his brows draw together in deep thought. 

“I was so sure…” he trails off. Tsu reaches over and ruffles his hair. 

“That’s all right, Kageyama,” he reassures, “we all still like you just the same.” 

“Yeah, man. Don’t worry about it too much,” Nakamura says. His voice is shaking and forcibly casual like it is when he gets nervous. Kuga jabs him in the side with an elbow until he doubles over, groaning. 

They stay like that, seated around Kageyama’s limbs and body on the gym floor, until their joints get stiff and painful. Kuga still doesn’t know if he made things better or worse, but Kageyama seems to be glued to his phone each time Kuga sees him after that, a small smile playing at his face. 

* * * *

They don’t practice so much over the summer break. It’s almost constantly uncomfortably warm, and the summer months are a weird limbo between new and old on the team; new tournaments haven’t yet started as the old ones are barely over, and the fourth year graduates are only on until they actually graduate, so it’s hard to figure out a practice schedule for a few weeks every summer. They’ve got conditioning scheduled already, but it’ll still be a couple months before practices start in earnest.

Kuga isn’t complaining. He much prefers fall weather to summer as he hates the humidity that seems to seep into every crevice of the gym during conditioning. He likes the warm afternoons where he is free to bask in the sun or lounge in his dorm room between lunch and dinner, and the lack of practices in the peak of summer opens up a lot of time for Kuga to do just that. 

Already, he’s spent most of his money on popsicles and a small fan for the desk in his dorm room. He has exactly zero regrets. 

The only problem is that he hardly ever gets to see half of his teammates without the practices. He still sees Tsu and Nakamura, of course, since they love to infest his dorm room instead of their own, but he never sees most of the others around campus. Maybe they should start hanging out as a team more, now that he thinks about it, but he’s too sluggish in the summer heat to put much thought into actually executing that. 

Kuga groans and stretches sinks down farther in his desk chair, the little fan on his desk working hard to cool him off. Tsu has taken up residence on his bed, his legs stretched up the wall and his head hanging off the edge almost at a right-angle, and Nakamura repeats Kuga’s groan from his place on the ground in the middle of the room. It’s a good thing Kuga’s roommate avoids their dorm at all costs around this time of day. He’s probably out at the library despite the fact that classes haven’t started yet, or he’s just on campus trying his hardest to not have to ever interact with Kuga. 

Nakamura scrolls mindlessly on his phone. Tsu shifts and nearly falls off the bed but catches himself and only rolls over. Kuga spins his chair in lazy circles. 

“This sucks,” Kuga mutters. “Everything’s so _boring_ without practice.” 

“We could go to the gym,” Nakamura suggests, but the lack of response from any of them is a resounding and unanimous _no, too sluggish._

“We could study,” says Tsu. “I’ve got boatloads of homework due at the beginning of classes that I’ve barely started and a project for my Thermodynamics that’s due on the first day. I haven’t even started it.” He sighs and shuffles on the bed but makes no move to save his Thermodynamics grade. 

“This _sucks,_ ” Kuga repeats. He opens his mouth to say something else—he’s not quite sure what, but the words will come, probably—but Nakamura sits up in a hurry, gasping and suddenly awake and clutching his phone in both hands. “What? What happened?” 

“Oh. Oh, my,” Nakamura breathes. He moves the phone closer to his face, scrutinizing whatever it is he managed to stumble across. Tsu rolls onto his stomach, but Kuga all but collapses out of his desk chair to get a better look. 

“What?” he repeats, reaching a hand out to take Nakamura’s phone out of his hands when it becomes clear he’s not going to actually tell them what’s happening and what he’s found. Kuga’s tugging must knock him out of his shocked haze, however, because Nakamura’s head jerks up, and he turns his phone around for both of them to see the screen. 

“I found Hinata’s Instagram,” he says, voice awed like he’s found the treasure to beat all other treasures. 

Kuga takes a closer look at the small, cracked screen of Nakamura’s smartphone: @ _h.sho.yo,_ 923 posts, over two-thousand followers, following more than five-thousand. His profile picture is small and too grainy to make out any details, but it looks like a selfie, based on the splash of vibrant ginger—and…is that Kageyama in the picture with him? It must be, based on the awkward smile and dark hair. Kuga can’t make out much else. Hinata’s bio reads, “ _volleyBALLER, bro -Bokuto-san_.”

“We totally have to, like, internet stalk him now,” Kuga tells Nakamura, who nods eagerly. 

“We don’t,” Tsu protests, but he rolls off the bed and sits down on Nakamura’s other side as he clicks on the first story highlight icon. It’s titled “ _travels!_ ” and is full of pictures of landscapes and cityscapes ranging from Tokyo to Miyagi to Brazil and even one or two in Mexico as well as a few other places. 

The second highlight is called “ _volleyball stories_ ” and is made up entirely of videos of Hinata jumping, spiking, receiving (more than once with his face in the earlier stories), serving, and practicing. The first videos are taken in a gym that doesn’t look too different from the gym Kuga’s high school had, but the more recent videos are taken on beaches and sandy courts. Somehow, they end up watching all of these stories despite the sheer number of them. Mostly, none of them talk, leaving only the tinny sound from Nakamura’s shitty smartphone speakers to break the silence in the room. 

The next highlight has more variety between stories. It’s titled only “ _my friends!!!_ ” and the first few posts are a number of shaky, loud videos that are obviously from high school as Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Yachi, and Kageyama make frequent appearances as well as other people that Kuga has never seen or met, including a scary-looking dude with shaved-hair and a young kid with a bleached tuft on the front of his head. Each time Kageyama appears on the screen, Nakamura gasps and points at the phone as if Kuga and Tsu can’t see for themselves. 

“ _KAGEYAMA!_ ” Hinata yells in one video, and it’s not abundantly clear what’s happening until there are a series of grunts and protests, and the video stabilizes to show Hinata pressing his face up against the side of Kageyama’s, one arm wrapped around Kageyama’s shoulders as he clings to his back like a koala. He laughs, high and wild, and Kageyama simply huffs but doesn’t even shake him off. The video ends a moment later, and Nakamura has to pause the next one to allow them time to recover. 

“Holy shit,” Kuga says, the words muffled by his hands as he covers his face. 

In the more recent additions to this highlight, there are pictures and videos of tall, tanned guys on beaches and in tropical-looking bars as well as more than a few selfies taken by the same guy, who always tags the stories with “@ _oikoikoikawa_ ” 

The other two highlights on Hinata’s profile are titled “ _foodstuff_ ” and “ _coolstuff_ ” and are less entertaining to sit through after watching the videos of Kageyama in high school. As much as they’re around the guy, Kuga finds he knows very little about him, apparently. 

After the stories—watching all of them takes almost thirty-minutes, and Kuga’s roommate will no doubt be home from wherever he is soon, but screw him—Nakamura clicks on the latest post. It takes a moment to load, but when it does, a moment of dead, humid silence passes. The sweat on the back of Kuga’s neck is suddenly like ice cubes sliding down his shirt, and he almost curses all the time they wasted on the story highlights. _Almost,_ but he doesn’t. 

The latest post, dated three days ago, is of Hinata and Kageyama together on a beach. It’s obviously in Brazil; Kuga doesn’t need to even look at the tagged location to figure that out because there are no beaches like that anywhere in Japan, he’s sure. He didn’t even know Kageyama had gone to Brazil recently.

The cover photo on this post looks exactly like Hinata’s profile picture: Hinata’s smiling face is in one corner, his hair strikingly orange against the pale skin of Kageyama’s shoulder. He holds up one peace sign, the other hand occupied with the phone. Kageyama is smiling, too, albeit awkwardly, but his eyes are on Hinata instead of looking at the camera. 

The next photo must be from moments later or moments before because Hinata’s smile is even bigger in this one, and this time, Kageyama is actually looking at the camera. His smile, in this picture, is close-lipped but not quite as uncomfortable as it had been in the previous slide. _Oh, well,_ Kuga thinks, _you win some, you lose some._

The final slide shows more of the beach around them and is obviously taken by someone else. The tide laps at their ankles, and both are wearing swimsuits—Hinata’s shorts are bright green and clash terribly with his hair but have some small pattern on them that Kuga can’t make out in the picture, and Kageyama’s are simple, plain, and black. Kageyama’s shoulders are already sunkissed, and Hinata looks incredibly tan in comparison. Both are smiling, and the picture must be a candid taken by one of Hinata’s friends because they look to be wrestling each other and enjoying every moment of it. The caption on the post is, “ _he came to visit me!!! photo creds go to @oikoikoikawa !!!!_ ” It’s entirely too many exclamation points, but Kuga can’t even be mad about it. 

“Wow,” Nakamura breathes. “They look…really happy.” The way he says it strikes something within Kuga’s chest. Not envy or jealousy but—Hinata and Kageyama are just really lucky to have each other, he thinks. Like, sure Tsu and Nakamura make him happy but not in the way Hinata makes Kageyama happy and, apparently, vice-versa. He can’t quite pick out what’s different about Hinata and Kageyama. They’ve known each other since high school, so he blames it on that. 

Tsu and Nakamura look as if they have come to this conclusion as well. They look at each other for a long time before Nakamura scrolls to the next post, this one from five days ago, two days before the most recent post. 

The second post is only one slide, and it’s another selfie, this one taken in the low light of some room Kuga can’t identify because Hinata and Kageyama take up most of the frame. It’s not exactly like the other one, though it is once again a picture Hinata took of himself and Kageyama, except in this one, Kageyama is asleep on Hinata’s chest. Only the side of his face and the slope of one of his shoulders is visible, as well as one hand that is resting on Hinata’s chest. His expression is entirely lax, his lips parted and eyes closed. Hinata’s eyes are sparkling, and he looks as if he’s holding back a beaming smile. The caption is a simple, “ _jetlagged yama_ ” with nothing else added to it. 

The simplicity strikes Kuga, once again, straight through the middle of his sternum. He blinks at the screen, gaping. 

Hinata’s posts before that are of people in Brazil. The ‘ _oikoikoikawa_ ’ character makes a lot of appearances after a certain point, though he must be on a different team than Hinata because he doesn’t appear in any posts about the Brazilian beach volleyball teams. There are an abundance of other frequenters on Hinata’s account, but no more Kageyama for months and months at a time. It’s not surprising, considering Kageyama’s been here, in Japan, since Hinata left. 

The next post where Kageyama makes an appearance is from many months ago, from before Kuga and Tsu and Nakamura had even met Kageyama. They stand next to each other among a group made up of Yachi, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi. All of them are smiling, their faces varying shades of red. Hinata’s cheeks are blotchy and red, his eyes watery, and Yachi and Yamaguchi are in much the same state. Both Kageyama and Tsukishima are only red around their noses. 

All of them are holding their diplomas out toward the camera in the first picture, smiling and standing next to each other. The next photo shows Tsukishima pulling Yamaguchi closer while simultaneously smacking Kageyama over the back of the head. Hinata and Yachi don’t seem to notice the impending fight until the last slide, where Kageyama has pounced on Tsukishima, his smile replaced by a mischievous smirk. In this last picture, Yachi’s eyes are wide and fearful, Yamaguchi is trying to escape, and Hinata is clutching his stomach and laughing hard. The caption is, “ _we made it!!!!!_ ” with an absurd amount of emojis afterward, so many that Kuga finds himself smiling at them. Even through the screen, Hinata’s energy is tangible and contagious. 

They manage to get well into the posts from Hinata and Kageyama’s high school years before Kuga’s roommate gets back. He takes one look at Tsu, Nakamura, and Kuga and scowls as he steps over their legs. They haven’t moved off the floor yet, which Kuga is starting to regret as his hips ache and twinge with each breath and movement. 

As his roommate settles in at his desk to work on some of his summer assignments, Kuga wishes he hadn’t come back at all—or, at the very least, not yet. There is still so much to work through on Hinata’s account, and now that they’ve started to uncover parts of Hinata and Kageyama and their high school friends, he doesn’t want to stop. 

Wow, he sounds like an absolute creep. 

Nakamura sighs and casts a look over his shoulder at Kuga’s roommate’s back where he is hunched over his desk already, scribbling furiously in one of his many, many notebooks. Tsu crosses his arms over his chest and shifts to sit on his knees. 

“Conditioning starts up in a few days, anyway,” Nakamura says, but Kuga already knows; they’d only been hanging out today because it was one of their last chances to do so before summer conditioning and the fall season, “so we should rest up while we can.” Kuga glances out the window and finds that the sun has set already, and it’s much later than he thought it was. They must’ve spent hours scrolling through each and every post without realizing. The battery icon in the top corner of Nakamura’s phone is almost entirely depleted. 

Tsu stands and stretches his hands over his head. His joints crackle. Nakamura hesitates for a split second before sliding the post off his screen. He presses the blue _follow_ button at the top of Hinata’s account and then he, too, stands, leaving Kuga on the floor alone. 

Nakamura and Tsu leave, and Kuga closes the door behind them after watching them walk down the dormitory hallways together, Tsu’s head bobbing next to Nakamura’s shoulder with each step. 

Kuga sits down at his desk and forces himself to do some of his own summer homework, even though he’s tired and can’t seem to focus for more than a few moments at a time. He listens to his roommate’s pencil scratching in the paper for a while before the sound grates on him, and he gives up on his notes. He leaves his things spread out on his desk and strips off his shirt, which is stiff and cool but constricting. Pulling back the rumpled covers on his bed, he curls into a ball on his side so he’s facing the wall instead of his roommate. His chest sort of aches with the impending end of break, and he’s never been so excited to go back to conditioning and practices, half so he has something to do again and half because he feels simultaneously soft and mushy and incredibly alone. He blames it on the heat of summer and the stress of his last year of college. 

By the time practices actually resume, the feeling has long since faded. He is all but bouncing around during warmups, and most of the team seems to share his energy because there are smiles all around as well as loud chatter and enthusiastic spikes and receives and serves. The sound of shoes squeaking on the polished gym floors is like home. Here, he is not alone—he has friends, a family, here in this gym—and he is neither soft nor mushy. He is a brick wall, a steel wall. 

Kuga is stretching next to Tsu when he first sees Kageyama out of the corner of his eye. It’s similar to how he first saw Kageyama coming into practice not a few months ago. He lingers in the door, his eyes roaming over every detail of the gym, taking it all in and committing it to memory. His intense, blue eyes catch on Kuga and Tsu, and Kuga waves him over enthusiastically. 

The closer Kageyama gets, the more Kuga can make out the fine details of him. He is tanner now, than he had been before, but it’s only by a few shades. The tan lines that show at the bottom of his shorts when he walks are obviously fading, and soon, there will be no evidence of the tan at all. Along with the tan, Kageyama looks more relaxed, generally. His shoulders slope softly under his practice t-shirt where he would usually square them off. His expression is light and neutral instead of borderline-murderous. He nods in greeting to everyone he passes on his way to Kuga and Tsu. They watch him pass, gaping and still so obviously unused to how Kageyama is after seeing Hinata. 

“Kageyama!” Kuga cheers in greeting, jumping up to pull Kageyama down to his height by the shoulders. He takes the touch with a smile and doesn’t step out from under his arm. This is only mildly shocking, but it really shouldn’t be at this rate. “How was Brazil?” 

“How did you know about Brazil?” Kageyama asks. Kuga freezes and looks to Tsu for assistance—he doesn’t know how Kageyama would take it if he knew they spent a whole evening going through Hinata’s Instagram account. Tsu avoids his eye by bending into a deep hamstring stretch. 

“Nakamura showed us Hinata’s Instagram, that’s all. I didn't know you went until he showed us.” Yeah, that’s vague enough. Totally doesn’t give away that they internet stalked the guy. 

“Oh,” Kageyama says. “Hinata told me Nakamura-san followed him, but I didn’t know he showed you, too. Brazil was good.” 

“Good? That’s it?” Kuga smirks because he can see the dull excitement buried under Kageyama’s expression. 

“It was awesome. Hinata—he’s really good on the sand. Better than me, at least, and better than Oikawa.” Kageyama looks even happier at this development. Kuga isn’t sure why, since they never managed to figure out who Oikawa is. “His roommate was nice enough, and his team was cool, too.” 

“Not cooler than us, I hope,” Kuga jokes. Kageyama shakes his head. 

“Of course not. You guys are like my family.” Kuga blinks once. Twice. Tsu finally looks up from his stretching, his muscles suddenly lax in his surprise. Kageyama bites his lip, his cheeks going pink. “I—I…” 

“We love you too, Kageyama!” Kuga cheers. He hadn’t realized that Kageyama felt the same about the team as he does. It’s a nice development, and maybe Kuga isn’t as much of a steel wall as he previously thought. There’s a moment where no one says anything, and Kuga squeezes Kageyama’s shoulder. “I take it Little Red’s doing well, then?” 

“He says he’s going to come back permanently soon.” Kageyama doesn’t bother trying to keep his neutral mask while he says it, his smile stretching over his face at just the prospect of Hinata returning to Japan full-time. “He’s just waiting for the beach volleyball season to be over before he comes back, but that’ll be before our season starts here.”

“Is he going to come here? Will he join our team?” Kuga asks. He’s seen Hinata in action, both in person and on his Instagram, and he’d love to see where the team could go with someone like him in the starting lineup. Maybe they could go the whole way to Nationals and _win._

“I think so, but I don’t know for sure, really.”

“We’re happy to hear that he’ll be closer, anyway, Kageyama,” Tsu says, shooting Kuga a glare. Kuga doesn’t know what he’s so mad about—they all know volleyball is at the top of Kageyama’s list of priorities. “It’ll be really good for you, having him close like that.” 

“Huh?” Kageyama grunts. “I’m happy he’s coming back, too, but he’s just going to be more annoying now than he used to be.” Still, he looks overjoyed. The expression remains on his face for all of practice when he’d normally be watching the ball with an intense stare instead. 

* * * *

Hinata moves back to Japan a few weeks into the beginning of Kuga’s fourth and last year in university. He’s a little stressed about this development—the fact that it’s his last year in university, not Hinata moving back—but he’s managing well enough, he thinks. 

He’s only had a few semi-breakdowns so far; he’s going to have to get a job, a real job, and maybe he’s going to suck at what he wants to do, and he isn’t going pro in volleyball, that’s for sure, so he’s going to have to find a neighborhood league, and what if he never talks to any of his friends again? He’ll be, like, totally alone in the world, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that. 

Seriously, he thinks he’s doing well handling it all. 

With Hinata, however, comes a peculiar development and a series of events that, frankly, shouldn’t shock Kuga as much as they do. 

He and Kageyama come into the first practice of the season together, months after that summer evening Kuga, Tsu, and Nakamura spent stalking him. Summer conditioning has just ended after weeks of cruel and grueling workouts, and their coaches are now scheduling practices many months in advance. Normally, getting a new player after conditioning would mean the newbie falls behind and gets left on the bench more often than not. 

That is not the case with Hinata, and this becomes abundantly clear after only one practice. Kuga has a feeling Hinata is the exception a lot, and he is one of the only ones on the team who is not surprised when Hinata manages to actually outdo some of the others during drills. 

For all of practice, Kageyama wears a creepy face that sort of sets Kuga on edge, just like when he first met Kageyama and didn’t know that his angry face was just his normal face. He looks _proud_ each time Hinata pulls off some stunt with a spike and the gym goes quiet in awe. He smirks and ruffles Hinata’s hair and tosses for Hinata like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to do. 

Hinata isn’t perfect. He messes up a lot—he jumps too high or with a little too much power, still obviously adjusting from playing beach volleyball for so long, and he misses the toss each time he overshoots, but he picks himself back up every time and hits the next one with incredible power, speed, and accuracy. He’s an absolute machine, and he never seems to tire, even when the rest of the team is all but collapsed around the benches after the coach blows the final whistle on their practice scrimmages. 

Hinata and Kageyama’s team wins against every other team they go up against. Kuga eyes the score cards from the time his team faced them ( _25-19, 25-21_ ) with mild scorn. It’s a really good thing Hinata is on their team, otherwise Kuga would give up on Nationals here and now, before the season even starts. 

Hinata and Kageyama stick close to each other. As much as Kuga’s seen of them together, he’s really never seen them interact beyond surprised greetings and on Hinata’s social media, but if he was expecting anything from them, it wasn’t this. 

“Hinata, you dumbass,” Kageyama gripes, making a swipe for the top of Hinata’s head. He ducks out of the way at the last minute, narrowly dodging a painful hair-grab. “Give me back my water bottle—just because you’re an idiot doesn’t mean you can just steal my stuff.” 

“You’re so mean, Bakageyama!” Hinata cries. Kuga watches them wrestle and bicker, gaping. Hinata barely manages to keep the water bottle out of Kageyama’s reach as his arms are much, much longer than Hinata’s. “So mean!” 

They’re like an old married couple. It’s insane. 

“Do you think they’re always like this?” Kuga asks. Neither Tsu nor Nakamura answers. When he shoots a glance at them, they are wearing mirroring expressions of shock as Kageyama uses a harsh grip on Hinata’s face as leverage to retrieve his water bottle. After Kageyama releases him, Hinata rubs at his cheeks, grumbling. 

“They’re so…good on the court,” Nakamura mutters. “How do they do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“Get along for that long,” he says, gesturing to the two of them. They have largely calmed down now that Kageyama has his water bottle back and Hinata’s cheeks are vaguely pink around his jaw where Kageyama gripped onto him. 

After he finishes drinking, Kageyama passes the water bottle back to Hinata without even so much as a cross expression or another word. Hinata takes it from him like it’s the most normal thing ever and like they hadn’t just brawled on the gym floor. 

“I don’t understand them,” Kuga groans. “I really don’t.” 

They’re even more confusing on their own. Hinata is still bouncing where he sits, even after the two practice games where Kuga is just about ready to pass out and not wake up again for a long, long time. A coma sounds pretty good right about now. He knows he is going to be _sore_ tomorrow despite the many weeks he spent aching all over from conditioning. Has he mentioned he hates the beginning of the season? Because he does—he really, really does. 

“I can clean up!” Hinata calls when their coach scans the gym for volunteers. Everyone else avoids his eye by taking long drinks from their water bottles or by rubbing at their muscles. “I’d like to get in a little more practice, anyway.” 

_This kid is crazy,_ Kuga thinks. _Absolutely batshit crazy._

There is no way anyone in their right mind would want to practice more after tonight’s practice, especially since they’ve got practice tomorrow, too. But here Hinata is, asking for the keys so he can lock up after himself. Kuga can’t believe him, but he can’t really be surprised at this point, not after everything he’s seen the kid pull off. 

Even the coach looks wide-eyed and suspicious as he hands over the key ring for the gym. He tells Hinata which key goes to which door and gives him the spiel each of them has heard about a million times by now: 

_“_ This one goes to the closet door where the nets go, and this one is for the locker room, and this one locks the gym itself, and then you just leave the ring on the hook outside my closet door, all right? Don’t forget to leave them, or we’ll all be locked out for morning practice tomorrow, and you’ll do seal walks until your arms fall off, you understand me?” Hinata nods, his face set determinedly as if this is the most important task he’s ever been given. He takes the keys in one hand and returns to his place next to Kageyama. They tilt their heads in toward each other and talk in muted whispers as the rest of the team files into the locker room. 

Kageyama doesn’t follow them in. 

Kuga dresses sluggishly, each movement making some part of his body ache like hell. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to blink. He still has a project to finish when he gets in tonight. Maybe he should just drop out. 

His messenger bag thumps against his hip as he stumbles out of the locker room into the gym lobby. The gymnasium doors are still open, light spilling out into the lobby, and he’s struck with the memory of accidentally walking in on Hinata and Kageyama practicing that one time and feeling so much like he’d been an intruder in their little moment. Not keen on replicating that one time, Kuga goes for the lobby doors instead. Still, he catches sight of Hinata in the air and the sound of a ball hitting the floor and a cheer and—a second, harmonizing cheer, this one deeper and very much _not_ Hinata’s voice. Holy shit.

Kuga lets the lobby door close behind him. He sucks in a deep breath of summer air and starts the trek back to the dorms. 

Kageyama and Hinata come into practice together the next day. Or, they’re there before Kuga even gets there, so he can only assume they arrived together and that they arrived together freakishly early. Kuga sighs at them as they bicker outside the gym.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama mutters. He shakes his head. “Of course we need pots and pans. How else are we going to cook?” 

“We can’t cook, Kageyama,” Hinata insists. “You suck, and I don’t know how. If we never cook, we don’t need pots and pans or, like, anything. We can use the kitchen for something else.” 

“I don’t _suck,_ you suck.” Hinata sticks out his tongue in retaliation, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes his arm muscles look bigger than they are and dodging Kageyama’s hand as he makes a swipe for his hair again. 

“You suck, ‘yama. Admit it.” 

“I won’t because I don’t!” 

“Hey, that rhymed,” Hinata laughs. Kageyama growls and lunges for him again, but Kuga intercepts. He presses a palm into both of their chests and huffs. These two tire him out, and practice hasn’t even started for the day. 

Don’t get him wrong; he’s happy for Kageyama. It’s nice to see his teammate—his friend—so carefree for a change, but there’s also only so many times Kuga can hear them argue about something stupid. 

“What is it this time?” he sighs, and he feels so much like a parent it makes him sick to his stomach. He’s not ready for kids, especially if this is what parenting is like. He thinks Kageyama and Hinata have put him off of ever being a father. 

“He doesn’t think we need to buy pots—idiot! We do,” Kageyama insists, and Kuga is even more confused now. 

“I told you I only know a few Portuguese dishes! What’s the point in having stuff if we’re never going to use it, huh, stupid-yama? Did you think of that? No, I bet you didn’t.” Hinata crosses his arms over his chest and smirks victoriously. 

“Brazilian food isn’t that far off of Japanese food! God, you’re so _stupid_ sometimes.” Kageyama flicks Hinata in the middle of the forehead and sticks out his tongue. “You practically had the same diet there as you do here.” 

“Oh. Oh, yeah. You’re right, I guess.” Hinata shrugs. Kageyama rolls his eyes. Kuga has no idea what he’s found himself in the middle of here, honestly. 

“What’s happening?” he asks finally. “Why are you two fighting over pots and pans?” Both of them shoot him a look that says he’s stupid or that he should know something he doesn’t. 

“We’re getting an apartment together,” Hinata says. “Kageyama’s roommate hates him for getting up so early all the time, and mine is sort of strange.” 

“Strange?” 

“He keeps three jars of baby corn in our minifridge, and it really, honestly creeps me out.” Hinata shudders, and Kuga shares the sentiment. “So, we’re getting an off-campus apartment. Kageyama seriously didn’t tell you?” Kuga shakes his head once. This is the first he’s hearing about it. Hinata turns on his heel to face Kageyama fully. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone!” 

“I thought you were telling the team, not me.” Kageyama huffs, and Kuga forces himself to tune out Hinata’s shrill retort. He wonders how long it’ll be before one of them ends up murdering the other. 

A few weeks later, they ask Kuga to help them move in. 

“Me?” he asks as if he isn’t the only other person in the gym with them. “You want me to, like, pick up boxes and stuff?” 

“Yes, you,” Hinata insists. Kageyama says nothing and avoids Kuga’s eye. “We don’t have much, but it’ll go faster if we have a little help, we think. And, we want our friends to be around for this—you’re our friend, Kuga-san.” Kuga blinks. Blinks again. 

This kid is gonna kill him. He clutches at his chest and grips Hinata’s shoulder. 

“Of course I’ll help you, Little Red!” he yells. Kageyama watches on as Kuga and Hinata jump around the gym like young kids, cheering. 

Their apartment is…quaint. Well, actually, it’s a shit-hole, but Kuga would never say as such to either of them, especially since both Hinata and Kageyama are wearing matching expressions of an emotion Kuga can’t quite identify. Pride? Joy? Excitement? He doesn’t know.

It’s not in the worst neighborhood, and it’s not too far from campus—not more than a few minutes’ walk—but the apartment is in a rundown building, and the lobby smells of mildew and lemon-scented tile cleaner. Their apartment itself is small with low ceilings and door frames so short Tsukishima will have to actually duck to get through them if he ever visits, and there’s a poorly concealed hole in the wall next to the front door. The kitchen is cramped, and the living room is barely big enough for more than five or six people, but it’s really not too bad, Kuga thinks as he sets down a random cardboard box in the living room. 

Hinata and Kageyama asked a few others from the team for help, too, but most of them have left for afternoon lectures by now. Kuga and Mawatari—one of their substitute defensive players—are the only ones hanging around anymore, but Kuga isn’t quite sure where Mawatari is. There are no more boxes left on the trailer Kageyama and Hinata rented for the day, so Kuga stands in the living room without purpose for a while. Neither of them seem like people to have a system with their things, but Kuga would hate to start unpacking for them and make their lives harder by somehow messing things up, so he leaves all the cardboard boxes in the living room as they are. 

He can hear Hinata and Kageyama moving around in one of the two bedrooms, their voices muffled by the walls so Kuga can’t make out what they’re saying to each other. It’s not loud enough to be bickering, but maybe that means one of them is dead already and the other is plotting how to get away with it…Kuga moves for the door to the bedroom to check in and make sure they’re both still alive and breathing. 

The door is ajar on its hinges enough that he can see into the room without needing to alert those inside of his presence in the hallway. Both of them have their backs to the door as they move between boxes, opening and closing flaps and taking things out and putting things away. Kuga watches as Hinata knocks his hip against Kageyama’s. When they turn to face each other, the boxes abandoned on the floor, they’re both smiling softly.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Hinata murmurs. 

“Me neither.” 

“I think I’ve been wanting to do this with you since high school. Is that weird?” he continues. Kageyama shakes his head. 

“No, it’s—it’s always been the same for me. When I thought about my future, you were always there next to me.” Kageyama reaches for the side of Hinata’s head, and his smile softens. 

“Even when you were an asshole to me in our first year?” Hinata asks. He squawks when Kageyama takes a fistful of hair, but it dissolves into laughter not a moment later. 

“I wasn’t an asshole to you—I was emotionally stunted, okay?” 

“What do you mean _was_?” Kageyama growls and grabs Hinata around the waist. Kuga debates on intervening but shakes his head at the thought as Kageyama simply picks Hinata off the ground and spins him around instead of tackling him. They’re both laughing openly, and Kageyama sets Hinata back on the ground but doesn’t pull away for another moment. 

“What are you doing?” Mawatari whispers from behind. Kuga jumps and bites down on a yelp as he whirls around to face him. “Are you being a creep?” 

“No!” Kuga insists, still whispering. Hinata and Kageyama haven’t noticed the two in the hallway yet, still wrapped up in each other. “Of course not. I don’t think they need us here anymore, though. We should leave them to it.” They tip-toe back out to the front door. Kuga closes the apartment door behind him and re-evaluates how long he thinks it’ll be before they kill each other. 

He gives them a few months— _tops._

* * * *

He is forced to re-evaluate again not long after Hinata and Kageyama move into their apartment. 

“Kuga-san, how do you confess to someone?” Kuga chokes on his own spit in his surprise, and his face goes bright red as he turns to gape at Kageyama. Kageyama blinks back at him, his back ramrod straight and his arms tucked behind his back. He rocks back on his heels. 

“Why do you assume I would know how to do that? And who are you confessing to?” Kuga straightens, his practice shirt half off and his shoes untied. He forgets about changing for the moment and gives his full focus to Kageyama’s world-ending question. He hadn’t even known Kageyama was interested in anyone, let alone considering confessing to whoever it is. 

“You told me you had a girlfriend once. I just assumed you had confessed to her, so you would know how.” He not-very-subtly does not answer Kuga’s second question. His cheeks are colored a bright pink, and he won’t make eye contact. 

“I’ve had more than one girlfriend in my time, but I don’t—it really depends on who you’re confessing to and how you want to do it. I can’t tell you, like, any sort of play-by-play.” Kageyama goes quiet and thoughtful like he sometimes does. 

“Do you think I should?”

“What?” 

“Do you think I should confess?” 

“I’m not really sure what’s happening right now, to be honest.” Kuga pauses and tries to think back on the whole conversation up to this point. “Kageyama, have you never confessed to anyone before? Has anyone ever confessed _to you_?” Kageyama’s lack of response is all Kuga needs. He opens his mouth to tease him about his grouchy demeanor scaring off all the girls at his high school, but before the words come, a realization all but slaps him across the face: “Oh my God! It’s Hinata, isn’t it?” Kageyama’s eyes go wide, and his flush darkens. 

“Sh!” he hisses, glancing over his shoulder at the locker room door. They both know Hinata is still practicing his serves in the gym with their pinch server, though; the only reason Kageyama isn’t out there with him is because he followed Kuga in here to ask him his question about confessing. 

“You aren’t denying it! Oh, Kageyama, I’m so _happy_ for the both of you,” Kuga coos. He drapes himself over Kageyama’s shoulders and ignores the dirty look he gets for it. He’s so happy he could cry, probably. 

“It’s not good of you to assume things, Kuga” Tsu chastises as he approaches. He sits down on the end of the bench and tugs off his shoes and socks. “Anyhow, don’t listen to anything Kuga tells you. He's managed to mess up every single confession he’s ever done.” 

“Tsu!”

“What? It’s true.” Tsu shrugs, and Kuga crosses his arms over his chest. “You should do it however it feels natural to you, Kageyama. It’ll work out—I’m sure whoever it is feels the same about you, too.” 

Kageyama goes quiet and contemplative again. He gnaws on his bottom lip and tugs his sweater over his head. 

“It is,” he says. He keeps his back to both of them as he says it, and his shoulders are tense, his head bent down so his hair falls over what they can see of his face. Another second passes, and he doesn’t elaborate. 

“What’s what?” Kuga asks eloquently. He toes out of his tennis shoes finally. 

“It’s Hinata. I want to confess to him.” He turns his head to gauge their reactions, his lips pressed into a shaky line and his eyes shining. His brows are furrowed, and he looks a little constipated. Kuga forces himself to not burst out laughing at the sight. 

Tsu stands and places a reassuring hand on Kageyama’s shoulder. 

“You’ll be just fine, then,” he says. He ruffles Kageyama’s hair. On the way back to the end of the bench, he mutters, “you’re practically married already.” Now, Kuga really does burst out laughing. Kageyama gives him a weird look. 

“And don’t be worried about, like, ruining your guys’ friendship with it or anything—I don’t really think that’ll be a problem,” Kuga says. Kageyama’s eyes widen, and he pales. _Shit, shit, shit. Wrong thing to say, Kuga!_

“Should I be worried about ruining everything?” Kageyama mutters, more to himself than to Kuga or Tsu. He presses the knuckle of his index finger to his lips in thought and looks suddenly very upset. “I didn’t even think of that.” He’s still murmuring to himself as he leaves the locker room. 

Tsu storms toward Kuga and swats at the back of the head, growling. 

“You idiot. Don’t you ever know when to put your foot in your mouth? Jesus.” Tsu rolls his eyes. 

“How was I supposed to know he didn’t think about that? He’s so smart on the court, and then he just…ugh!” Kuga throws up his hands in defeat. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I can’t handle them.” 

Kageyama and Hinata race into practice the next day hand-in-hand. It’s not uncommon to see them shoving at each other as they enter the gym, but it’s half-hearted at best today, and both of them are grinning widely and keep their fingers linked between their bodies as they tumble through the doors. 

“Are they…holding hands?” Nakamura asks as he bends over to pick up a stray volleyball. 

“Were they? I didn’t see,” one of their teammates complains. “It’s about time, though.” 

“Have they not been together this whole time?” Mawatari asks. “Kageyama is different when Hinata’s around—I thought that meant something…” He trails off, his lips pursed and brows furrowed. “We helped them move in together.” Someone slaps Mawatari on the back to comfort him. 

Kageyama approaches Kuga in the middle of practice as they're in the front line of defence, waiting for a serve to start the rally. 

“He confessed to me before I could,” Kageyama says without taking his eyes off the other side of the court. His hands are raised in the beginnings of a block already. “He told me he could see the words coming and didn’t want to lose to me, so he just blurted it out first.” All things considered, Kageyama doesn’t look at all mad at getting beaten. He looks entirely too pleased, but then again, he didn’t really lose anything, did he? 

Kuga slaps him on the back.

“Congrats, buddy,” he says as Kageyama steadies himself on his feet. “I’m happy for the both of you.”

The serve goes up. Hinata’s on the other side of the net and receives it well, the ball going up and over toward Kuga and Kageyama’s side. The rally goes back and forth for a while before an opportunity opens up for Hinata to spike the ball. 

“Shut him down!” someone shouts next to Kuga as he and Kageyama jump. Kageyama blocks the spike, though he winces at the feeling of the ball hitting his hands. The sound reverberates around the gym, a sharp smack that sounds like it stings. 

“I’ll get you next time,” Hinata promises. He reaches for Kageyama’s hand under the net, and Kageyama grabs it and squeezes his fingers. 

“I won’t go easy on you,” he replies easily despite the flush creeping up his ears. 

“Good!” Hinata grins and races off toward his team, apologizing for the lost point. Someone tells him “don’t mind!” and slaps him on the back as he gets back into position, his knees bent and his arms held out from his sides. Hinata and Kageyama share another look—determination burns hot in both of their eyes, like this game is win-or-die or something—before the serve goes up. 

The other team wins after they go into a points tug-of-war in the last set. The final score is 28-26, and Kuga watches Hinata do a stupid, little victory dance that makes the irritation over a lost game turn into fondness in Kuga’s gut.

“Kageyama, you weren’t slacking off, were you?” he calls out. He wears a teasing smile as he bounds toward their setter. 

“Of course not, dumbass.” Kageyama reaches for the top of Hinata’s head, growling. “Why would you even think that?” Hinata just laughs and takes the water bottle he’s offered. Kageyama reaches for his head again but only runs his hand through his hair, a gentle gesture that makes the insides of Kuga’s cheeks taste sweet. He bites down the urge to tease them for it. “You played…good,” he murmurs, and Kuga snorts into his own water bottle at the stilted awkwardness of it. Neither of them pay him any mind. 

Hinata doesn’t seem to notice the clumsiness of the compliment—because he’s used to it or because he is just as socially awkward as Kageyama, Kuga can’t tell. He only grins up at Kageyama and pushes his head into his palm. 

“You did, too, Kageyama! You played so well, like—that one really high set you did, will you do it for me, too?” He tugs on the bottom of Kageyama’s shirt. 

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll do any toss for you.” Hinata’s grin softens into something sickeningly love-y. Tsu comes over to sit next to Kuga on the bench, followed by Nakamura. 

“Remember when he was scary?” Nakamura mutters, casting a long look over at Hinata and Kageyama, who are too wrapped up in each other (they’ve dissolved into a playful shoving match over a comment Kuga didn’t quite catch) to notice Kuga, Tsu, and Nakamura sitting not far away. “When did he _stop_ being terrifying?” 

“I don’t think he ever did,” Tsu notes, and he’s right. Kageyama is still intense on the court—the look in his eyes as he sets is enough to make a grown man cry (Kuga has come close a few times)—as well as off the court. His resting face parts crowds at tournaments, and the other teams gossip about why he’s so pissed off when they go to training camps. When he drinks his milk boxes, he looks as if he’s planning someone’s demise; more than once, Kageyama has gripped the box too tight and spilled it all over his hands and come to practice smelling faintly of milk. He still gets snappy sometimes. 

Nothing about him has really changed, now that Kuga thinks about it. It’s all the same as before—before what? Before Hinata; because that’s what it really boils down to, isn’t it? Hinata came around, and now Kuga isn’t quite so scared of Kageyama. It’s hard to be when he and Hinata fall asleep on each other on the bus when the team takes long trips and when he nods along to Hinata’s babbling, listening intently to the rambling stories and anecdotes pouring out of his boyfriend’s mouth. The guy who gets excited about the fact that Hinata bought him a boxed milk from the machine outside the gym (Kageyama had told everyone during practice, all but gushing about how thoughtful Hinata is) isn’t as hard to talk to as the guy who scowls at the floor all the time, except they’re the same guy. Kuga can’t quite wrap his head around it. Just thinking about it is making him dizzy. 

“I think he just found the one person who was never scared of him to begin with,” Tsu continues. “And I also think they’re really, really good for each other.” The three of them watch from the bench as Hianta tugs Kageyama toward the court. Kageyama is wearing a lovesick expression that really doesn’t look so out of place on his face, and he lets Hinata guide him around without even faking a complaint. 

“We’re gonna get to the top of the world, Kageyama—together!” 

“Yeah,” Kageyama nods, determined. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope youre all doing well and drinking enough water!! <3


End file.
